


Room to Breathe

by littledust



Category: X/1999
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-29
Updated: 2004-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't easy, but Subaru and Seishirou carve out a space for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely connected paragraphs written in present tense? Must be my fic! At least this time I'm using proper nouns. Anyway, this is a sort of 'day in the life' S&S idea that utterly distracted me from the fic I SHOULD be working on. Seishirou, stop randomly appearing in my head.

It's funny how that although there are two pillows on the bed, only one is ever in use. When dawn is breaking and just enough light seeps through the cracks of night to illuminate the lone pillow, Seishirou wonders if he should get rid of it, or use it for something else. He doesn't quite know what to do about it, but somehow it doesn't matter.

He had expected it to be an annoyance, this subtle blending of space, a small price to pay for the aesthetic pleasure of Subaru's company. The Sakurazukamori moves alone, acts alone, works alone, is alone. Yet if two people can find a way to share the space of one, how can they prefer to be solitary?

That is not to say that everything is perfect. Subaru's feet are unfailingly cold, and he cannot be trusted in the kitchen. Once Seishirou comes home with caked blood underneath his fingernails, and Subaru bites his lip and does not say anything, as is his way, withdrawing to another room to read, but not before Seishirou, vaguely angry in a way he cannot define, inflicts a passing jibe that hurts like rough fabric scraping over sunburn.

But later that night, after Seishirou has showered and gone to bed, Subaru slides next to him underneath the sheets, takes Seishirou's hands with both of his, presses a kiss to the center of his palms, then one to the tip of each finger. It is a gentle gesture to hands used to tear and rend and shatter, to do all manner of things ungentle. Seishirou will consider this in the afterglow of lovemaking, holding up a hand to the ceiling, stretching it as far as it will go. The other hand is pressed against the small of Subaru's back, keeping him close.

Most of their days, however, pass in a sort of peaceful mundanity, a mundanity somehow not tiresome at all. Subaru eats his meals with the same patient carefulness that he gives to a spell working, a fact which amuses Seishirou for no particular reason. Subaru blushes whenever he catches Seishirou watching, and then point out the untouched food on his plate. "As long as you're eating," Seishirou replies, and picks up his chopsticks.

Seishirou used to work sporadically before Subaru moved in; now he likes to go out every morning, to do more target research than is strictly necessary. It is intriguing that now his life has been bisected by a thin white line: the Before, and now the After. So many things are different now, yet the thrill of the hunt is the same, if strangely fleeting. Or perhaps it has always been quick to desert him, and now he is just noticing it in the face of things more permanent.

The sakura tree digests her meal, and Seishirou returns to the apartment to clean the blood off of his hands, humming an old, old song under his breath as tap water spills out of the faucet in counterpoint. A pity this job finished so early; Subaru won't be back home for another few hours at least. The very phrase 'back home' is out of place; the apartment never seems like home unless Subaru is in it. Seishirou stretches out on the couch and dozes off, for lack of anything better to do.

He wakes groggy, with the dull headache that accompanies too much sleep. There is a quilt draped over him, and for a moment he tenses, realizing there is another person in the room. But it is Subaru, just Subaru, chewing on the end of his pencil as he thinks of what to write next on the piece of stationary in front of him. It must be a letter to his grandmother; she refuses to call her grandson at his new location, perhaps hoping it will snap him to his senses. Subaru cries sometimes after he reads her responses to his letters, and Seishirou holds him until the tears pass. And still, the letters go back and forth.

"There's dinner in the refrigerator," Subaru says, but Seishirou is already moving, shrugging off the quilt and leaning over him, cupping his face before he kisses him as gently as he knows how. Something about waking up with Subaru nearby is pleasant, and he might even call it happiness, were he so inclined to put a more specific label on the emotion. He used to need a label for everything, but lately it doesn't seem to be as important, and his feelings concerning Subaru remain as insubstantial as air; something not felt or seen yet necessary in order to breathe.

"I missed you," he admits to the soft curve of one ear, then kisses the point where Subaru's jawline begins.

"You say that every day," Subaru answers, putting down the pencil and pulling him closer.

"I know."


End file.
